Is That A Human Skull?
by jamesgatz1925
Summary: Where the skull came from.


Sherlock Holmes lays restless on the sitting room sofa, the lights on the tree flickering over his pale face and making him glow blue and red and green. He shuts his eyes tight but excitement rushes through his veins and awakens the idle butterflies in his stomach; they flutter with uneasiness and his eyes flash open once again. This time he sees the same as he did one minute ago: no Santa, only the bright tree ahead of him.  
He'd begged Mummy for hours to let him sleep on the sofa. He wanted to catch a glimpse of Santa Claus, just one. Mycroft had said he was too old to believe, but the nearly five year old told his big brother to shut up, and that Santa is too real. After the older boy rolled his eyes, he corrected his little brother's grammatical errors and left the young boy alone with the Christmas tree.  
Sherlock's eyes dart open again and he finds the clock; not two minutes had passed. He sighs and turns onto his back. "Maybe Santa forgot me," he says out loud to nobody. He does that often, speaks aloud to no listener in particular.  
The boy frowns and turns over again, wiggling himself into a comfortable position and relaxing himself into sleep.  
What seems like seconds later, A loud thud on the roof makes Sherlock sit up in alert. He stares up at the ceiling and waits. "It's Santa," he says. "He didn't forget!"  
Sherlock checks to make sure the cookies he set out are somewhere Santa will quickly see them, then he lays on the sofa and pretends to be asleep. As soon as he closes his eyes, he hears the thud of boots hitting cold fire wood. He tries not to smile, to not give away his sleeplessness, but a small smile cracks onto his face anyway.  
He hears Santa set something under the tree, then Sherlock opens his eyes.  
The site before him is startling. A figure is kneeling next to his tree, and when it stands, Sherlock sees he's tall and skinny, not plump and round. His cheeks aren't rosy, instead they are pale and bony, resembling Sherlock's own. His red suit hangs off his body as if made too large for him.  
"Santa?" Sherlock squeaks.  
"Ah!" The figure jumps back, startled.  
Sherlock sits up and gets a good look at the figure before him. Yes, skinny, pale, bony; why, he is not Santa at all! "You aren't Santa," the four year old easily states.  
"Who are you?" The figure asks.  
"Sherlock Holmes."  
The figure nods. "Go back to sleep, Sherlock. I've just..." The figure looks around and picks up his gift, "I've left your gift! And...and I am Santa!"  
Sherlock eyes the figure. "You aren't. Santa is round with rosy cheeks and a bowl full of jelly. No, no!" Sherlock sighs in frustration. "His belly is like a bowl full of jelly. You have no belly!"  
The figure stares at him with wide eyes- no, the figure has no eyes at all!  
"Why haven't you got eyes?" Sherlock wants to know.  
"Because...I..."  
Sherlock stands from the sofa and goes to the creature. The figure steps away from him, but Sherlock corners him against the fireplace. Sherlock reaches out to touch the figure.  
"Who are you?" Sherlock asks when his small hands meet bone.  
"I am..." The figure leads him to the sofa once again. "I am Jack, a special helper of Santa Claus."  
"Why have you got no skin? Or eyes?"  
Jack stares at Sherlock. "You're not afraid of me?"  
Sherlock shakes his head.  
"Well," Jack begins, "I am the king of Halloweentown. I am a simple skeleton."  
Sherlock stares with curiosity. "Halloweentown?"  
"Yes, yes! It is a magical place with ghosts and gouls and goblins and many other things."  
"Well where is Santa?"  
"He's just...busy, that's all."  
"Busy on Christmas?"  
"Of course! Busiest day of the year! Many other children to visit!"  
Sherlock's face drops into a deep frown. "Even Santa Claus is too busy for me."  
"Of course not, young man! He..." Jack looks at the sad face in front of him. "He sent me especially to you."  
Sherlock's face lights up at this. "He did?!"  
"Yes, yes! He wanted me to give you a special gift."  
"What is it?"  
"Erm..." Jack bites his bony finger to think. "What did you ask Santa for?"  
Sherlock's frown returns and he looks away from Jack. "I asked for a friend."  
Jack smiles wide enough to show all of his skeleton teeth. "My boy, have I got just the gift for you!"  
Sherlock sits patiently for never ending minutes watching Jack dig through the red bag. Finally, Jack finds the package he was looking for. He hands it to Sherlock with triumph.  
"Open it," Jack demands.  
"I don't think I deserve it," Sherlock admits.  
"And why not?"  
"This morning...this morning I put a worm in my brother's oatmeal."  
Jack smiles once again. "That, my boy, deserves this present most of all."  
Sherlock smiles at Jack, then rips the paper on the gift open. Inside is a box, so Sherlock opens the box with no finesse, then instantly pauses.  
"What is this?"  
"It's a friend."  
Sherlock picks up the human skull laying inside and examines it. "What kind of friend?"  
"The best kind of friend!" Jack exclaims. "This friend...he will never leave! He will listen when you speak; he will never disagree when you are wrong; he will never be angry when you offend him; he will never share your secrets. He will be ideal."  
Sherlock listens to Jack and absentmindedly pets the skull. When Jack is finished, Sherlock smiles and jumps into the bony arms. "Thank you, Jack!"  
Jack is startled but in seconds he happily hugs the boy back. "Oh dear," Jack finally says. "I've got to dash!" He quickly stands and grabs his sack.  
"Will you come back?" Sherlock asks.  
"Maybe," Jack says, going to the fireplace. "Enjoy your friend."  
Sherlock smiles at the skull on his lap. "Thank you."  
Jack smiles one last time, then disappears up the chimney.  
Sherlock hops off the sofa to the window, then gazes out into the night to see Jack's sleigh of transparent reindeer pull him through the darkness.  
Sherlock retreats to the sofa, this time easily falling into a deep sleep, still while clutching his new friend.


End file.
